Page 140 of The Sin Binder's Vow

Luna sits up straighter.

I turn slowly, letting her see every angle.

“Well?” I ask, trying to sound casual even as my heart picks up.

She doesn’t answer right away. Her gaze trails down, then up again, her mouth parting slightly before she presses her lips together.

“That one.”

I raise a brow. “Just like that?”

She nods once. “That’s the one you wear when you want the whole room to look at you—and hate themselves for not being you.”

“Or for not being the one who gets to take me home?”

She meets my gaze, something darker flickering in her eyes. “That too.”

There’s a beat where neither of us moves. The light shifts in the closet, catching on the black satin of my suit and the gleam in her eyes, and for a second it feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Just her, me, and the dangerous current always humming beneath our bond.

I walk toward her slowly, watching the way her eyes trace my movements, and when I reach her, I lean down, bracing my hands on either side of the velvet chair.

“Say it again,” I murmur, my voice a breath against her cheek.

She tilts her head. “Say what?”

“That you love me.”

Her lashes flutter, but she doesn’t flinch. “I love you.”

I grin and kiss her—quick, hungry, a reward and a curse all in one. Then I pull back and whisper, “Now help me pick my boots. If I’m going to devastate this world, I need the right heels.”

I kneel with reverence—yes, kneel—before a glass case nestled into the floorboards, the contents bathed in soft golden light like a religious relic.

“I’ve got it,” I say, voice low and deadly serious, like I’m about to drop some sacred revelation from the mountaintop of aesthetic genius.

Luna lifts a brow. “This should be good.”

With a slow, dramatic flourish, I press my hand to the biometric scanner. A soft chime. The lock releases. Snake-skin boots. White. Gleaming. Pointed toe. The kind of thing that would make a god blush.

“Ohno,” Luna says instantly.

I hold one up like it’s Excalibur. “Yes.”

She’s already shaking her head. “No, Silas.”

“Cowboy chic is timeless, baby. You just don’t understand the vision yet.”

“You’re about to pair that with—” Her eyes narrow, following my hand as I reach toward the shelf above and pull down a worn black cowboy hat with a feather tucked in the band. “—That?”

“This hat once belonged to a demon lord who tried to steal my soul in a poker game.”

“Did he lose because you were wearing that?”

“No. I won by seducing his sister. But that’s not the point.”

Luna groans and sinks deeper into the velvet chair, draping an arm dramatically over her eyes. “Please. I’m begging you. Just wear the suit.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, already toeing the boots on, shifting my hips with flair. “You don’t want to see me in my outlaw era? Silas Veyd: renegade heartbreaker, saloon legend, terror of the supernatural West.”

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